


1 Corinthians 13

by L8tr_g8tr



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cultural Differences, Determined!Ronan keeps him on track, Eventual Sex, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, It gets hard to remember that Ronan is the bad guy, M/M, Original Character(s), Peter Feels, Peter and Ronan are equally messed up in different ways, Peter is his own worst enemy, Ronan feels, Ronan is really strong, Seductor!Peter, Self-Sacrifice, Size Difference, They both need therapy, This also becomes an issue, Unintended Introspection, Virgin!Ronan, Why can't I just write simple stories?, crappy childhood, kink meme fill, this becomes a problem for Peter, world building, yeah i went there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L8tr_g8tr/pseuds/L8tr_g8tr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the LJ kink meme! When storming the Dark Aster goes wrong for the team, Peter's mouth gets away from him and the Terran inadvertantly propositions Ronan the Accuser. The Kree surprisingly accepts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Well, at least I'm getting killed by someone who's hot._ Peter Quill thinks inanely, gripping feebly at Ronan's wrist, the Kree's large hand wrapped around his throat and rapidly cutting off Peter's oxygen supply. _Still, would have preferred to have been ridden into the great beyond by an energetic blond. Or a brunette- a brunette would have been fine, too._  


Ronan's hand disappears abruptly and Peter hits the floor, body instinctively sucking in air as fast as possible and nearly choking in the process. Peter is a coughing, wheezing mess by the time he gets his breath back and ultimately can only roll onto his back at Ronan's feet, panting for air.  


"A blond or brunette what?" Ronan's voice takes Peter by surprise but not nearly as much as the question itself since the Terran had been sure he hadn't actually voiced the thought. "And why would it ride you? Where would you be going?"  


Apparently oxygen deprivation is more tongue loosening than Peter has ever considered, though its not like his mouth hasn't run away with him before under less dire circumstances.  


"And what does my temperature have to do with your ride?"  


This has got to be one of the weirdest conversations in the history of weird conversations but, then again, its been a strange couple of days all things considered so Peter just blinks a bit and wonders if the universe is fucking with him one last time as he answers the Kree's oddly innocent question.  


"Well, you are really attractive, dude, but if I'm going to meet my maker I had hoped it would be in bed with some, uh, enthusiastic company if you know what I'm saying?"  


Ronan simply stares, a line of confusion appearing between his eyes and anger lines appearing around his mouth. Peter holds up a hand to stall the impending argument and sits up slowly, keeping his hands visible at all times. Peter has Ronan's attention and if he can keep it maybe they can still save the day and prevent Xandar from being wiped out of existence.  


"When I'm having sex, I have a preference for girls with blond or brunette hair." Peter says as plainly as possible in as neutral a tone as he can manage. "When I contemplate the manner of my death, if given the choice, I would like to die as a very fine someone rides my cock."  


There- plain as can be. To be any more so, Peter would need visual aides.  


Ronan's eyes are large, his mouth slack, and Peter allows himself to feel amused and a little honored because he's betting very few people ever get to see the Accuser so caught off guard.  


"Sex?" The Kree questions and its clear he's hazarding a guess at what the Terran is talking about.  


It's Peter's turn to stare and he feels like his eyes might fall out of his head because a) who doesn't know about sex and, b) holy shit he's going to need visual aides!  


"Or masturbation, but yeah, sex." Peter says, a bit dazed by the bizarreness of it all. "Making love. Fucking. Having relations. Pick a euphemism. Haven't you ever had an orgasm?"  


Ronan blushes, his cheeks flushing dark blue under his war paint, and Peter can barely keep himself from laughing. Or cooing. Both options would be equally damning right now even if, Accuser or not, the sight is damn adorable, especially when Ronan becomes even more visibly flustered as he speaks.  


"I am The Supreme Accuser, son of one of the most noble Kree bloodline! It is my task to uphold the ancient laws of my people - not sire half-breeds across the universe!"  


_Wow, Ronan's a virgin; totally didn't see that one coming._ Peter nods understandingly and magnanimously refrains from pointing out all the flaws in Ronan's arguments. Regardless, the Kree's sputtering has given Peter an idea, a terrible, wonderful, absolutely insane idea, and Peter is all about working an angle that will benefit him. "Ok, I see what you're saying, I do. No women, got it. I respect you don't want to be an intergalactic baby daddy it but what about a male lover then?"


	2. Chapter 2

On a universal scale, the whole binary idea of gender doesn't work and Peter is perfectly aware of this though he's betting Ronan isn't. 'Male-ish' would probably be the most accurate term but Kree culture, as far as Peter understands, has similar Terran concepts about what constitutes male and female in a species and what the procreating limitations about each are. It had taken Peter a while to get his head around the idea that a male of a species did not in fact always have a penis or nearest equivalent.

"A what?" Ronan freezes and _goggles_ at Peter while the Terran uses every last shred of willpower he possesses to maintain a placid expression.

"A male lover." Peter repeats mildly then grins. "Pregnancy issue is handled. No one'll bat an eye at one more guy walking around. You get someone to keep you company and cuddle with in the downtime."

"Cuddle?" And, again, Ronan uses the same baffled tone as he had before, as if any kind of physical intimacy- innocent or not- is so foreign to him that he literally has no frame of reference for dealing with it. It's... Awful, really, and Peter can't help the rush of pity that wells up in response because as shitty as his childhood had been he knows how to still enjoy a physical connection with another being.

"Yeah, man, a cuddle. A hug? An embrace to bestow comfort when you've had a shit day?" Peter prompts, suddenly feeling incredibly sad. "What do you do for stress relief?"

Ronan seems to straighten up and practically preens. "I seek retribution for the crimes against the Kree empire."

_Of **course** he does._

"Aaaaand we're back to killing and slaughter." Peter thunks his head against the floor and rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Look, Ronan, maybe its time you try something new...and less... murder-y to relax. Getting your rocks off, man? Best stress reliever in the universe. That or a cuddle. We could give it a try right now- you can always go back to wasting planets another day."

Peter flashes him his best smile and doesn't think he does too bad a job considering he's still sprawled on the floor at the Accuser's feet. Ronan's face is impassive but the Kree is staring at him and, by the sheer intensity he's using to look at the Terran, Peter knows that the other is interested, the idea starting to grow. But Peter needs it to grow faster- much faster- so he stretches a bit, putting a little wiggle in his hips and rolls his shoulders to emphasize the musculature as he sits up, turns and focuses on Ronan.

Peter is naive about many things but if there is one thing he's learned it is that everyone regardless of species, culture, and planet likes to feel important. To feel wanted, needed? That kind of attention is a heady thing, a power like no other and from experience, Peter knows that his ability to make someone else feel uniquely special and appreciated will get him closer to sex than any other trick. The Terran ignores everything else and pays attention to the Kree as if the larger male is the most important being in the universe.

"So, speaking from a personal stand point on stress relief, I'd recommend sex." Peter laughs and even to his ears it sounds false, brittle. The only thing keeping him upright is adrenaline and once that runs dry he's gonna drop so, really, Ronan needs to hurry the fuck up and be reasonable if he wants to get any before exhaustion claims Peter completely. "Sleeping with a guy can be just as good as sleeping with a girl- which you haven't done yet so never mind you big romantic you. Anyway! Guys! If you're with someone who knows what they're doing, you'll feel like a god."

Peter nods sagely, trying to be a the picture of galactic sex guru wisdom, and waits, mentally begging Ronan to _please...!_ take the bait.

"And you," Ronan flushes again, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his two-handed grip on his hammer tightens. "You are such a person?"

Peter nods solemnly. "I am. I can also help you find someone else if I'm not attractive enough. There's this place in the next quadrant over that will do anything you want. We can head over there now and I can walk you through the menu. I'll even pay for the first ride and that, sir, is **not** a cheap offer. What do you say?"

The down side to simply talking is that it doesn't produce a whole lot of adrenaline and Peter rubs at his face, grimacing at the feel of grit and sweat on his skin. It is distinctly a very not-sexy feeling. He needs a shower in the worst way- they probably all do come to think of it- and the Terran has to immediately suppress the burning sensation behind his eyes, has to fight not to look at Drax still sprawled on the floor somewhere to Peter's right and ignore the plaintive wail in the back of his mind asking _Why isn't he moving?!_

"I do not know if I could lie with a male." Ronan crouches down in right front of him, startling Peter by the abrupt closure of the distance separating them. The admission is equally as surprising and intimate considering their adversarial relationship with one another, and Peter nods in acknowledgement of that fact. Sexuality is a sensitive subject and the Terran is very aware that he is trying to steer the Kree down a path that sounds like it's pretty far afield from the other male's cultural norms.

It's an issue Peter has had to deal with himself after all.

"There's an easy way to test that, if you want." Peter offers, well aware that in the next second everything he's worked for could blow up in his face. He bites his lip, then licks over the surface to sooth the resulting discomfort, mentally frowning at the dry and chapped texture. But Ronan's eyes follow the movement hungrily, tracking it as a predator would track prey, expression screaming his unvoiced want.

Peter spares a wistful thought that this situation would be so much more arousing if the fate of a planet and its people weren't on the line.


	3. Chapter 3

The Accuser nods and Peter makes a point of telling Ronan exactly what he's going to do before actually pressing his lips against the Kree's because Peter is acutely aware of the giant, Infinity Stone powered **demon** hammer inches away from his fragile Terran body.

The Terran knows that he could make a grab for it, maybe even wrestle it away for a few minutes, but its not like there're a lot of places Peter could go with it to escape Ronan. Even tossing the damn thing outside isn't an option since the whole point of this little suicide mission was to prevent the stone from reaching the planet! No; seducing Ronan, as ludicrous as it sounds, is Xandar's best option right now so Peter proceeds with as much caution as possible.

The kiss is a bit awkward at first because Ronan is stiff as a board and Peter's feeling a bit shy about it all now- he's dusty and dirty and really should have brushed his teeth before trying to save the galaxy, especially if sex would be the deciding factor, and oh, my God, why is he thinking about all of this right now?! The pressure that this is a make or break moment doesn't help, neither does the sound of gunfire strafing the hull in the background. But just when Peter's about to inwardly say fuck it and take his chances by going for the hammer, Ronan responds and the kiss rapidly goes from something innocent to passionate. Ronan is making little needy sounds, sounds echoed by Peter and suddenly Ronan's large hand is pawing at Peter's clothing, digging until skin touches skin and **whoa** Peter needs to stop this before the Kree strips him bare!

Peter pulls away with a gasp and pins Ronan's wandering hand between his paler, smaller two. They’re both panting, both flushed, and the Kree makes a noise that is perilously close to a whine as Peter fights to maintain the distance between them.

"So that's a yes." Peter says with a breathless laugh, ducking Ronan's clumsy attempt to recapture his lips. The frowning Kree makes an irritated noise, breaks Peter's hold on his hand and palms the back of the Terran's neck to drag him forward for another kiss.

"Ronan," Peter is panting when he manages to free his mouth again. The Kree begins kissing down his jaw instead, occasionally licking at Peter's skin tentatively and earning an appreciative sound from the Terran. The Kree attacks the spot again, experimenting with different pressures and the Terran's brain disconnects temporarily as his pants become noticeably tighter. Eventually though Peter does remember that there are factors that need to be dealt with before they can do the dirty. "Ronan, we have things to deal with before we get naked."

The 'naked' comment earns a shudder from the Kree leaning against him, the force of which nearly knocks the smaller male over. Peter takes hold of Ronan's hand, cradling it between his own pair near his mouth and lets his tongue dart out to trail over Ronan's fingertips anytime the desire in those purple eyes starts to flag.

"We need to get out of here, away from Xandar because getting shot during sex is not cool. Once we're safe, you and I are going to find a bedroom and have some private time together." Ronan leans in for another kiss and Peter willingly gives it to him, pulling away before it can become too heated despite Ronan getting visibly annoyed."No. Safety first, sweetie, then the clothes come off."

The Kree pulls back and side-eyes Peter silently.

"You are trying to thwart my conquest." Ronan asserts, pulling away completely from the Terran and standing up so that he can glare down. Peter can only watch as suspicion chases away the arousal he's worked so hard to build up and wants to cry in frustration. "This is a trick! You seek to stall for time!"

He sounds so outraged, so hurt, that even though he is fully intending to fuck the Kree, Peter feels genuinely guilty about his ploy. It lasts until the Terran remembers the planet and all its inhabitants facing certain death below the Dark Aster and then Peter mentally slaps himself for his own stupidity.

"No, baby, no! I just want to celebrate with you." Peter waves dismissively at the giant hole Rocket's little cannon blew in the front of the ship. It's both amazing and distressing that Ronan didn't go down after taking a direct hit, had merely grunted as the dust settled before proceeding to wipe the floor with them all. Drax had been first and Gamora had been next followed by Groot -Peter hasn't seen either since Ronan tossed them behind some rubble- and then Peter had had the pleasure of being the sole recipient of the Kree's attention until the Terran had started babbling. Peter flounders, inwardly scrambling for something to say until his eyes land on Ronan's waist and a new idea forms.

Using his mouth has always gotten Peter out of trouble before, let's see if it can do it one more time.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter clears his throat and coughs as he inhales more of the dust sifting through the air. "All of Xandar is shitting their pants because of you. You've won so let's fuck. Are you an exhibitionist? Wanna screw me on Nova Prime's desk and give her a show? We can do that but lets go find a private place so we can practice first. Xandar will still be right where you left it and the Nova Corps will still be in pieces."

As he talks, Peter rises to his knees and walks his fingers slowly up Ronan's leg, under the hem of the skirt thing, trailing his nails along the stiff fabric covering the larger male's thigh teasingly. Peter feels ridiculous -and desperate- but he continues anyway, trying to look as sexy as possible as he holds the Kree's gaze. The Terran plasters himself against one long leg and hangs on tightly as his fingers brush the seam of rough material at the apex of Ronan's legs, expecting the other to be startled and unwilling to be kicked. The Kree jumps in surprise but the anger that flashes across his face quickly bleeds away as Peter gives up being subtle and becomes more and more aggressive. The material is tight with very little give but Peter's fingers stroke and fondle Ronan's cock until it swells to full size and the Kree is practically humping Peter's hand.

Peter feels quite proud of the near strangled sound Ronan makes in response when he pulls his hand away.

"Do you know what a blow job is?" The Terran asks, making his voice low and husky. He's been told its quite the turn on by several ladies and hopes it will have the same panty dropping effect on Ronan. "It's not as good as real intercourse but a very nice place to start for beginners."

Peter starts tracing random patters against the Kree's inner thigh and rises up to mouth at the limp fingers within reach. He latches onto one and draws it into his mouth, circling it with his tongue until Ronan's chest is heaving, his eyes wild as he stares down at Peter. The Terran pulls free with a deliberately slow caress of his tongue. "Feel good? It's a lot like that, just here instead."

Peter palms Ronan's erection pointedly and gives it a squeeze before withdrawing.

The hand in his hair is not altogether unexpected but the harshness of it as it hauls him to his feet is. Peter makes a pained noise as he struggles to his feet is quickly swallowed by Ronan as the Kree crushes his mouth to the Terran's and Peter has to yield or risk cutting his lips on Ronan's teeth. Peter thrusts his tongue past the other's lips, licking, exploring, inviting, and the hand leaves his hair to circle around his back, crushing him against the larger male. The Terran pulls back with a nip to the Kree's lower lip but Ronan chases after him, bending from the waist to do it and inadvertently causing Peter to stumble when the other shifts to keep his feet. This leads to more stumbling as the pair try not to trip over each other's feet and maintain their balance while still kissing because Ronan refuses to allow Peter to separate. It's funny and Peter is laughing through his nose before he can help it, finally managing to get his feet under him only to find that they have swapped places in stance with one another. Ronan pulls back a bit when he feels Peter smile, flashes a pleased grin of his own and then makes the Terran moan by attacking the slim column of Peter's throat.

Everything is going well so of course that's when things have to get complicated.


	5. Chapter 5

"Bedroom!" Peter demands, panting, pushing at Ronan's shoulders. It's like trying to move a blue, living mountain so the Kree doesn't budge an inch which is just insulting. "Or a plush carpet! Or a clean couch! I'm not picky but we're not fucking on this floor!"

Ronan responds by hooking an arm under Peter's bottom and lifting the Terran up as if he weighs nothing at all. It startles a yip out of Peter who instinctively wraps his legs and arms around the Kree to keep from falling.

"This is better." The Accuser states, hefting Peter experimentally when the Terran loosens his tight hold and places his smaller hands on Ronan's broad shoulders. The new position enables Peter to look down at the other and after a confused moment, the Terran smiles in a predatory fashion.

"It is." Peter purrs as he cups Ronan's jaw and places a light kiss on the other's lips. His thumbs tease over the black war paint decorating the Kree's face, expecting the substance to be wet and smear but instead its dry and stiff, adhering to Ronan's skin as if its been there all the Kree's life. For all Peter knows, that may just be the case and he brings his attention back to the matter at hand- bedding the Kree in his arms. "I take it you have a place in mind?"

The Kree tilts his head up slightly, an implicit request because they both know Ronan is too proud to ever beg. Peter has never been one to enjoy groveling and feels a pang of familiar sadness. No other species seems to be as tactile as Terrans and its something that Peter had had to figure out how to function without as a child. Once he was old enough, Yondu had ensured that Peter suddenly had all the companionship he could handle.

The Terran mentally shoves the thought away and busies himself by nibbling on a dark blue lip until Ronan's breathing speeds up.

No one should have to beg for a kiss or a hug or a cuddle and Peter showers as much tactile comfort as he can on the Kree.

"Make sure the ship doesn't crash first, okay?" Peter will be Ronan's first and quite possibly last lover, and the Terran wants to make sure that the experience is everything love making is supposed to be- or at least can be- but that doesn't mean he has any desire to be in the middle of a fiery crash while doing so. Peter also knows that once he leaves this room with Ronan he has essentially signed his own death warrant but, in his peripheral vision he can see Drax starting to stir, has seen flashes of green skin and creeping masses of branches moving amongst the debris in the room. Distracting Ronan may cost Peter his life but it also could buy his team- the people he owes for willingly following him into such an impossible situation- the precious time they need to get to safety.

It's a gamble but its one worth taking if he can save everyone.

Eyebrows arched, Peter hooks his ankles behind the Kree's back and links his hands behind Ronan's head as the Kree walks to a panel on the wall to type in a command. The low rumbling hum of the engine quiets slightly and Peter's inner ear tells him that the ship has stopped its descent. Ronan types another command into the keyboard and, arching an eyebrow of his own, looks at Peter expectantly.

"What did you do?" The Terran can't help rolling his eyes as he asks in a tone that says he knows the other is waiting for acknowledgement over an achievement of some sort.

"I have increased the shields so that we will not be shot during our pleasure taking." Ronan states in a neutral tone. He could almost be talking about the weather until he ruins it and smiles shyly up at Peter. "Since being shot would be 'un-cool.'"

The Terran laughs at having his words thrown back at him, claims Ronan's mouth again and then there's no more talking, just lips and tongues and hands and moans as they move deeper into the Dark Aster's interior. The Accuser's gait is a bit unsteady and Peter's back bumps into a wall more than once but eventually they end up in a room with an immaculately made bed that Peter plans to make as dirty as possible.

Unfortunately, before the clothes can come off, the weapons must first since they're both armed to the teeth. Peter's never been one for neatness and his blasters and odds and ends are durable enough to survive being dumped on the floor but treating Ronan's world destroying hammer thing the same way seems like a Very Bad Idea. The issue is solved, however, by a convenient shelf situated within grabbing distance of the bed. Setting the Terran down, Ronan places his hammer carefully on it and Peter does the same with his pair of blasters, a knife or two (or four), a single pistol, a stun gun and a small bomb.The smaller male shrugs as Ronan stares at the collection from Peter's pockets.

"What? We can't all be mighty Kree warriors." Peter bites the inside of his cheek and valiantly refrains from commenting when, seconds later, the larger male pulls two wickedly curved blades from his boots to add to the pile.

There's an awkward moment after that where they both are hesitant to initiate physical contact now that they're more clear headed. But then Peter thinks, _Fuck it_ , and pounces on Ronan, practically climbing the startled Kree and tugging at the stupid cowl thing until it gives and Ronan's bald head gleams from the rooms's recessed lights. To his credit, the larger male doesn't hurl Peter away; instead Ronan accepts the additional weight like a champion, wraps his arms around Peter's hips and shifts them both so the Kree can sit on the bed with Peter straddling his lap while the Terran attacks the heavy armor fastenings.

"How'd you even get in this thing?" Peter exclaims, rising up on his knees and pulling at the breast plate. "Dunk yourself in lube then squeeze in?"

Infuriatingly, even though he's using all his upper body strength, the damn thing doesn't budge an inch. Neither does the Kree wearing it, for that matter. Peter gives another heave then admits defeat for the time being as he folds his arms and stares at the garment intently. Ronan watches him curiously for a moment then silently reaches up to clasp something behind his neck and Peter hears the muffled sound of metal against metal. The carapace immediately loosens, slitting up the sides so that when Ronan abruptly rolls them over, all the Kree has to do to remove his armor is just pull it over his head.

"Oh, that is **so** not fair!" Peter complains indignantly to the Kree smirking above him even as the Terran toes off his own boots and his hands start pulling at Ronan's pants. "Wait, so you just let me-mphf!"

The Kree pulls back from the sudden kiss enough to put his forehead against Peter's and stare into the Terran's eyes. "You talk incessantly. Is it necessary for our impending union or may we resume kissing instead?"

"Kissing's good." Peter agrees after a moment of fighting with himself to not smile. "I like kisses."

"Excellent." Ronan straightens up enough to remove his undershirt and let it fall to the floor before returning to hold himself above Peter's smaller frame. "I enjoy kisses as well and would like to kiss you other places. And touch you. And taste you."

And _hello_ \- that certainly brings to mind all sorts of interpretations that make Peter shudder and squirm as he fumbles at his own clothing. If this continues, Ronan's inadvertent brand of blunt sexy cuteness was going to make Peter embarrass himself horribly.

"I'm ok with licking, too, but you're gonna need to define taste." Peter huffs as he fights to shimmy out of his tight pants and not kick the Kree in the groin since Ronan keeps stealing kisses and licks at odd moments now that the Terran is preoccupied. It's almost like Ronan cannot help but touch whatever skin the Terran reveals and Peter blushes under the attention, feeling his own skin hunger flare. "I grew up on a ship where being eaten was a very real threat."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped that this would be up in time for Thanksgiving (US) but I work retail and thus that hope died fairly quickly. I think I have heard every English spoken Christmas song known to man already and December has just begun. -.-V  
> Right- this is the chapter many of you have been waiting for Since our boys get busy. Consider yourself warned.
> 
> Happy belated Thanksgiving and please remember that the spirit of Christmas is to be kind to other people.  
> 

He realizes that it is the wrong thing to say almost immediately as Ronan withdraws enough so that he can look down at Peter fully. He seems to be waiting for a punchline but as the silence drags on and is broken only by the occasional grunt from the Terran as he fights to shed his clothes, the Kree frowns. The larger male opens his mouth to undoubtably pursue the matter but Peter shuts him up by wrapping his legs around Ronan's hips and rolling them both until the Kree's back hits the bed.

They are getting dangerously off track and into very uncomfortable territory that Peter has no desire to discuss, **ever** , let alone with a genocidal maniac.

"Shut up and fuck me." It's nearly a snarl as Peter rears up on his knees and crawls off the bed. The Terran pulls the other's boots off and then pulls and tugs at the other's pants until the Kree obediently manipulates his lower body so the fabric slides right off narrow blue hips. Feeling almost feral, Peter takes great pleasure in hurling it away and Ronan voluntarily strips off his underwear before the Terran can do so. Peter sheds his own shirt and undergarments and then, finally, the pair are as naked as the day they were born.

 _Bluebell._ The Terran thinks before he can stop himself as his eyes take in the sight of the Kree's body. God- Peter can practically see his mom sitting on the porch steps of their home, fingers lost in a patch of the blue bell-shaped flowers, her expression bittersweet and voice faintly resigned as she quietly says, _Love is forgetful, Peter- it keeps no record of wrongs._

He remembers that he'd hugged her as tightly as he could, his child self recognizing pain and trying to ease it even if he didn't understand the reason behind it. Peter remembers repeating the action a lot in the days that followed and though he'd made her smile, made her laugh, he'd never been able to chase whatever haunted her away completely no matter how hard he tried. Then one day she'd dropped unconscious to the floor without warning and he'd found out that all the hugs in the world can't help his mother get better.

If he ever meets the man who sired him, Peter decides, he's knocking the bastard's teeth in because its only now, with the aid of time and distance and his own adulthood, that he realizes how fucking lonely his mother must have been while stuck in that tiny Colorado town filled with tiny minded people.

It reminds him of Xandar, now that he thinks of it, and with that realization he forces himself to take a breath and push the memory into the back of his mind where it can do no more harm. Peter will deal with it later- much later when he's alone and terribly, terribly drunk- because this is the epitome of bad timing and thinking about his mother is not conducive for getting laid.

"Oh, baby, you are gorgeous." Peter purrs as he takes another breath and simply looks at the Kree, appreciating the other male's body for the picture of form and function that it is. Aristocrat by birth, there is no mistaking Ronan as any thing other than a professional soldier, one who takes care of his body not to indulge his vanity but because his physical condition is what keeps him alive. Ronan's skin is the perfect shade of cornflower blue shot through with cobalt in delicate lines where the blood vessels come close to the surface. His groin, unsurprisingly, is almost entirely navy but there's an indigo sheen to it that creates a marbling effect along the shaft and crown that's almost hypnotic. Even only partially erect, Ronan is already as long as Peter's hand and thicker than two of the Terran's fingers and Peter abruptly realizes that they are facing a square peg in a round hole situation if he can't find some thick lubricant.

"Ronan, sweetie, can you scoot forward a bit?" Peter asks approaching the bed and kneeling between the Kree's long legs. Ronan complies looking a bit anxious and Peter understands because he has the same issue any time any thing gets close enough to potentially harm his junk. The Terran shifts his attention to Ronan's knee instead, kissing it lightly before moving along Ronan's inner thigh in a deliberate trail, his tongue darting out occasionally because the Kree is so sensitive to touch that the added lick makes him jump. Peter wraps his hands around the limb to keep it still and lavishes attention on the skin, mapping the musculature with his tongue on first one leg and then the other, enjoying making Ronan squirm until finally the Terran is ready to tackle his primary goal.

The Kree's eyes are wide, the pupils dilated from desire and his expression is one of hungry anticipation. Peter raises his head and bats his lashes and inwardly smiles when Ronan swoops down to kiss him, using lips and tongue so enthusiastically that the Terran is breathless when they separate. When Peter can breathe again he shudders, feeling his blood warm and pool in his groin, feels his own lust burn hotter as he braces his hands on the Kree's hips, leaning forward to wrap his mouth around the head of Ronan's cock.

The taste of blueberries bursts across his tongue as he dips it into the crown's slit and Peter nearly chokes in surprise. Recovering, he sucks gently then with increasing force when the Kree moans, one broad hand hesitantly splaying across Peter's shoulder as the other carefully tangles in the Terran's hair. Peter makes a noise of approval and gives Ronan's hips a squeeze before repositioning his hands, one circling the base of Ronan's cock as the other circles Peter's own. Settled, Ronan's appreciative moans echoing in his ears, Peter goes to town, jerking himself off as he concentrates on coating the Kree's penis with as much saliva as possible, gradually taking Ronan further down his throat and using his hand to coat what he can't take.

It's a sloppy and messy process, and one that has to be put on hold when Peter orgasms first. He manages to pull off in time to avoid injuring Ronan and cups his hand to catch his release as he rides out his peak with his face pressed into the Kree's thigh, expression slack and content as Ronan hesitantly pets his hair.

"Are you alright?" The Kree asks, cupping Peter's jaw and tilting the smaller male's face up. Peter blinks rapidly as he nods, rousing enough to smile at the other. He's not tired; on the contrary, he feels buzzed- elated, even- as if someone has injected the best opiates in the universe into his blood stream. The Terran licks his lips and milks his cock until it's limp then smears the mess over his fingers before moving his hand so that he can begin loosening himself for penetration.

"Fine, fine." Peter assures him then ruins it by grimacing as the first finger slips in. "Well, I will be once this part's over. I'll be even better once I'm riding you. Do you know what your rebound time is?"

Ronan's expression is blank and he blinks at Peter uncomprehendingly. The Terran uses his free hand to pat the Kree's thigh comfortingly.

"Never mind, we'll find out together." Peter grins and mouths at Ronan's erection, licking at the soft skin, working his way back to the crown and using his tongue to tease the sensitive glands. Ronan's eyes roll back as he moans appreciatively and shudders above Peter when the Terran engulfs the length again, carefully working it down his throat as far as he safely can. Then Peter hums-

-and quickly has to withdraw because the Kree shouts, hips bucking in response, and nearly chokes the Terran in the process.

Peter coughs so hard he has to use Ronan's knee for support as the mattress quakes under a shift in weight. Looking up reveals that Ronan has collapsed onto his back limp as an overcooked noodle except for his erection which appears to have doubled in length and is standing proudly like some sort of monument to Peter's sexual prowess. Finally getting his breath back, the Terran smiles at his accomplishment then frowns, feeling something warm oozing down his cheek, his chest, and even his back. Scooping some of the substance onto his finger, Peter eyes the golden syrup he's covered in and gives it an experimental lick.

"I have the worst craving for pancakes right now." Peter says conversationally, then sucks in a breath as he slips a second finger in, scissoring them roughly and willing himself to relax around the intrusion. The Terran licks golden, blueberry flavored ooze from his other hand for a distraction and slips a third finger in.

"Please do not do that again." Ronan says, rousing enough to raise his head off the mattress and look around his penis at Peter who only grins in response. "I do not know what that was but please do not cause it again."

"Sure." Peter readily agrees, inwardly laughing at the Kree because, holy shit, is Ronan in for a surprise. The Terran thinks he's finally ready to take the other's length completely and carefully wipes his hands and face clean on the sheets as he speaks. "But I think you just had your first orgasm and if you didn't like it then we're gonna need a new activity. Do you have any board games? Cards, maybe?"

" **That** is an orgasm?" The Kree's head hits the mattress again and a hand comes up to cover his eyes. Peter nods, crawling up the other's body and watching in satisfaction as Ronan's cock practically strains toward him, golden fluid seeping thickly from the tip and dribbling down to coat it to the root. The Terran places his palms on Ronan's chest and straddles the Kree's narrow hips, rising up onto his knees before lowering his body down onto the tapered crown.

Eyes wide, half rising, Ronan makes a strangled sound and his hands shoot up to grip Peter's hips- to prevent or encourage the Terran doesn't know or care because it's too late to stop now as the Kree breaches Peter's body. Ronan's eyes roll back, his grip tightening enough to leave bruises, and Peter shudders as he sinks downward until their bodies are fully wedded together.

Its then that the Terran realizes the Kree's cock is no longer as smooth as his own; Ronan's penis suddenly has ridges and nodules up and down the shaft that weren't there prior to his climax. Uncomfortable, Peter lets out a low moan between clenched teeth, hips shifting and twisting in jerky movements to get away from the intrusion because its too much. Even as pleasure rockets up his spine because Ronan's cock is rubbing all the right places inside him, Peter feels painfully stretched. His spine bows, his chest heaves, and little whining sounds escape from between his lips. 

He feels rather than sees Ronan sit up. Hands ease up Peter's back, alternately kneading the tense muscles along his spine and rubbing roughly against his sweaty skin. Lips skim his ear on their way down to nuzzle at the join of Peter's neck and shoulder, planting soft kisses as the Terran tries to relax so the fun can start. Peter can feel Ronan's muscles trembling from fighting the urge to begin thrusting into Peter's tight heat and he shows his gratitude with little kisses of his own to the upper swell of the Kree's chest, the closest skin he can reach with his forehead resting on Ronan's shoulder. 

"Ok," Peter said, voice a bit shaky from pain and pleasure and things that he'd really rather not think about right now. "Ok." Bracing his hands against Ronan's shoulders, the Terran eases back into a sitting position and lets his legs on either side of the Kree's hips take his weight again. He can feel the other shift inside him, the pleasure competing with the burn of the shifting angle, but Peter concentrates on his breathing until he can look up at the Kree.

Impatience, doubt, and eagerness war for dominance of Ronan's expression and it makes Peter huff a laugh as he pulls the other down for a kiss, swallowing the Kree's noise of surprise when the Terran begins to move his hips when their lips meet. The motions are shallow little thrusts at first but became deeper, more sure as pleasure outweighs pain and Peter slowly figures out how to ride the Kree without causing serious injury to himself. It's a balance between pain and pleasure since Ronan's size and length alone are more than Peter's body can handle even if the odd ridges and bumps hit places inside the Terran that seem to have a direct line to the pleasure centers of his brain. When Peter starts making noises of his own for the Kree to swallow he has no idea if they are ones of ecstasy or agony. 

It doesn't matter- he has to make this work regardless and so the Terran sucks up the pain and puts on a show.

"Lay back, baby," Peter pants, giving Ronan his sexiest smile and watching those pretty lavender eyes cross as the Terran slowly moves his hips upward in a slow clockwise motion, the Kree's grip on his hips tight enough to leave bruises. "Just enjoy the ride and let me do all the work."

Peter pats at the larger male's hands for emphasis until Ronan relaxes his grip and lays back on the bed, expression wary as he watches Peter begin to lower himself back down into the Kree's lap. Ronan hisses, eyes fluttering with pleasure as his hips rise up to meet Peter half way, the Terran's back arching slightly with a low moan. It takes a bit longer but they find a rhythm, the tempo interrupted periodically as Ronan has mini-orgasms that do nothing to soften the Kree's erection and makes the Terran feel incredibly full due only in part to the Kree's release. Each time Ronan peaks, the irregular design of the Kree's penis becomes more pronounced and though it makes the pleasure sharper, it is becoming a growing concern as to what will happen when Peter finally coaxes the larger male into full blown climax. As Ronan pants for breath, Peter rises up on his knees until just the tip of the Kree's arousal remains inside him simply to make sure that they can in fact separate. 

The universe is a very big, very weird place and not every species of intelligent life goes about sexual reproduction like Terrans do. Kraglin had scarred Peter with tales of spines and barbs and male pregnancy that had had the young Terran fleeing in terror. When he'd found out, Yondu had dragged Peter's skinny ass back to Kraglin's room and thrown him in with the command to shut the fuck up and learn this shit so that Peter could finally be fucking useful. Kraglin had been smug for the rest of the conversation about the Terran's new role in the Ravagers and Peter had felt something shatter inside him.

He feels the echo of the sensation as he lets Ronan pull his hips back down, every ridge and bump along the Kree's length rubbing against all the places that make Peter's testicles pull tight against his body as orgasm looms. He's glad of the physical stimulation, knowing that it will keep the illusion going that he's having a good time even as his mind disconnects emotionally from the affair. He's on autopilot, making all the right sounds, all the right moves, being what he needs to be to finish his task and slink away into the night like the thief he is with no one the wiser. It's just another job; he's the distraction while the others sneak in and do whatever Yondu tells them. When it's over, Peter will make a narrow escape and limp back, clean himself up and have to be ready to do it all over again because that's what keeps him from being useless.

There was no dead weight among the Ravagers because they didn't have the resources to waste on anyone Yondu deemed unusable. What was useless met a bad end, either as space debris, by being left planet side, or even worse depending on the Eclector's location at the time. 

Yondu had made sure Peter was very, very useful.

It was just sex after all; not like anyone cared about it. That whole Terran idea about first times being special and romantic or whatever? Complete bullshit on a universal scale. Sex equals love? Yup, that's wrong too. Think getting someone off will buy their good graces in a fight? Nope; Peter has the scars to prove it. Hell, there's a whole planet where physical intimacy is the only currency accepted, so really, Peter has no idea why he still clings to the old Terran ideals revolving around physical intimacy. 

But he does anyway and it hurts anew every time he's forced to seduce someone.

His orgasm hits him unexpectedly and Peter is thrown out of his dismal thoughts as stars explode into being behind his eyes, his spine arching, hands scrabbling for purchase against Ronan's skin. It's painful how tightly his muscles have clenched during climax but the afterglow that makes Peter's vision hazy mutes the discomfort. He'll feel it later, of that there is no doubt, but as his muscles start to go lax he can't bring himself to care about it or the fact that he's about to hit the floor.

Hands grab him and haul him forward to sag limply against a warm chest as long legs fold under him to provide support. Peter knows that Ronan is speaking because he can feel the vibrations under his cheek and against his ear but its just white noise in the background that he can't be bothered to pay attention to. Large hands take his pulse briefly before smoothing over his skin, and the Terran makes an appreciative sound, soaking up the attention as his release cools between them.

He feels safe. There's no reason for it, especially given Peter's current situation, but something about the solid feel of the Kree surrounding him makes him feel safe. Protected. Wanted.

It's been a very long time since Peter has felt any of those things.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter comes back to consciousness with a hard jerk and a snort and feels like a dick for clocking out early when the job's only half done. Ronan's erection is still hard and thick inside Peter and the Kree has to be aching for the mind blowing orgasm Peter promised him. Guilt pricks at him as the Terran sits up, mouth already open to delivery the sincerest apology ever in the history of sincere apologies but Ronan's question is faster.

"Where did you go?" The Kree asks as he thumbs open Peter's eyes and leans close to peer at the pupils. Ronan's tone is a mix of outrage and concern and the Terran mentally flounders; anger and aggression he expected but the fact that Ronan appears worried leaves Peter at a loss. He tries to stutter out his apology but the Kree doesn't seem to be listening, too preoccupied with examining Peter instead. It takes a minute of being manhandled for the Terran to realize what the fuss is about and _damn_ if it isn't sweet.

"Ronan," Peter has to physically drag the Kree's head up and away from the Terran's chest where the larger male seems to be listening to his heart. "You didn't break me. I'm fine."

But the Kree frowns and cups Peter's jaw, tilting his head this way and that. Even when the Terran rocks his hips enough to make the larger male's breathe stutter and his eyes cross, Ronan holds perfectly still, refusing to be distracted as he continues to look for injury. Peter ups the ante and starts kissing the Kree in odd places just to see what the other will do- starting first with those cute blue ears. He begins with the left and pulls the soft lobe into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue and tugging at it with his teeth. A growl is the only warning Peter has before he's practically thrown out of Ronan's lap toward the wall at the head of the bed and the only things that stop the Terran from being concussed are a pillow, a well placed arm and sheer dumb luck. Disoriented as he gets onto his knees, Peter feels the bed creek a second before his head is being held between two large hands as lavender eyes glare down at him.

_He's going to tear my head off._ The thought falls strangely flat inside Peter's head. It's not exactly a surprise but it is still somehow immensely disappointing and a part of the Terran tries to be comforting, helpfully pointing out that it'll be over quickly once his neck snaps.

This is not a date, he reminds himself sternly, it was **never** a date. Peter's saving the galaxy and buying time for his friends to escape and this was always, **always** going to be a one way trip. 

But the wrenching twist he's expecting never comes and the hands only hold him still as the fingers run through his hair, the digits paying special attention to the side of his head that nearly collided with the wall. Ronan relaxes, releasing Peter and the Terran nearly hits the bed in shock.

"I am glad you are unhurt." It's the closest Peter is going to get to an apology and he knows it. "I forget how breakable Xandarians can be."

"No problem." Out of sorts, the Terran makes a dismissive gesture with one hand as he runs the other through his hair in a self-soothing motion and notices a very prominent, very stiff feature of the Kree's anatomy. "Lets get back to having fun, huh?"

Fucking would be so much easier than trying to figure out Ronan's protective behavior because Peter's done nothing to warrant it and it's kinda freaking him out. He doesn't have to think to have sex and not thinking would be infinitely more preferable.

"Where did you go before?" The Kree asks and it takes Peter a few minutes to mentally shift gears enough to realize what Ronan is talking about.

"Nowhere pleasant." Lying would be pointless and the Terran grimaces. "It wasn't your fault and you didn't do anything wrong." Peter taps his head and looks at his lap feeling like a grade A asshole. "Just, ah, just got a bit lost 's'all."

The Terran laughs and even to him it's hollow and brittle and incredibly sad. Peter curses himself for the show of vulnerability and his own sense of growing idiocy.

"Then I will lead you." Ronan says decisively after a few seconds, nodding once like they've come to some sort of agreement. "You will not get lost again while I am here."

Peter feels his face flame as inside his chest his heart does entirely inappropriate acrobatics. _He's a job and a genocidal maniac and all kinds of crazy. He's probably going to make a fucking hat outta you when he's done, you idiot, now get a grip!_

Despite the morbid imagery, Peter still feels his heart speed up when Ronan takes his hand and kisses the inside of Peter's wrist lightly before the larger male begins crawling up the Terran's pale form. The Kree does nothing that smacks of a deliberate attempt at sexiness but there is still something incredibly attractive and enjoyable about watching such a well toned body in motion that makes Peter's cock sit up and take notice. Peter's heart has a similar reaction to the look of smug delight and pride that flashes quickly across Ronan's face when he sees the reaction.

_A hat, you idiot!_ The Terran inwardly hisses, desperate to squash the rush of affection that tries to surface in response to the Kree's attention. _A HAT. That he'll wear. As he blows Xandar to P-I-E-C-E-S!_

And, shit, why has no one blown the ship out of the sky yet? The others had to be halfway to the planet by now and within comm. range so it should be open season on the Kree ship. Not that Peter's looking forward to being caught in the crossfire of heavy ordinance but it is a bit odd that nothing has interrupted their coupling.

Ronan's thumbs stroking along his jaw brings Peter out of his thoughts and back to the Kree kneeling before him. "You became lost again."

"I did," Peter agrees, leaning forward to give the other male a peck on the lips. "Thanks for bringing me back. You want to hear something funny? I hate this damn planet and the Nova Corps. Every time I'm here I'm either dying, being arrested, or dying **and** being arrested."


	8. Chapter 8

Ronan blinks and leans back frowning. "Did you not come here as their champion against my wrath?"

"No, I'm here because blowing up planets and committing genocide is really, really wrong." Peter corrects and gives the Kree serious eye-contact. "Nothing- and I mean nothing- justifies destruction on that level."

"They slaughtered my parents in front of me." Ronan says flatly and tries to put physical distance between them but Peter hangs onto his arm long enough to clumsily scramble forward into the Kree's lap.

"I'm sorry." Peter says, wrapping his arms around the other in a hug. He's sincere in his sympathies, the grief over his own mother surfacing suddenly. The Terran knows that his attempts at comfort are probably more irritating than anything, that one awkward hug- no matter how heartfelt- is not going to put a dent in Ronan's pain but maybe it can help take the homicidal rage down a notch. "I'm sorry that they did that. But you can't annihilate a planet because you're angry at them."

Ronan's upper body remains stiff and unyielding but the Kree does rest his chin atop Peter's head for a few seconds. It's the only acknowledgement the Kree gives to the Terran's attempt at comfort; Ronan's silence says plainly that he doesn't want to talk about it and Peter doesn't press because he knows how personal the grieving process can be. So instead, Peter stays as he is and absently marvels at the Kree's erection trapped against his belly.

"Why do you hate the Nova Corps?" The larger male eventually asks, running a hand down the Terran's back and fingering the bumps that mark Peter's spine. When one long finger caresses his tailbone, the smaller male yips in surprise and, glaring, moves to sit on the bed in front of the Kree.

"'Cause they're jerks." Peter says flippantly, shrugging. They're also racist assholes as the Terran found out years ago when he made the mistake of asking a cop for help. It hadn't been long after his abduction by the Ravagers and the old instincts of asking a police officer for help had still been intact. The Nova Corps were the space equivalent, his younger self had reasoned once he managed to slip his guard, so they could help him get home because he was in trouble and helping people in trouble was what policemen _**did**_. But they hadn't given a shit once he explained that no, he wasn't from Xandar or from any of the planets in the Nova Empire. Instead they'd tossed him in some sort of lost pet shelter area in a cage and then they'd fucking called Yondu with a warning for the pirate to put his pet on a leash or be fined. Peter had been so shell-shocked that he hadn't resisted the electric tether being placed on his wrist or that he was being given back to his kidnapper.

It had been a valuable lesson and once Peter became a Ravager, he had made sure to study enough of Xandarian culture so that he could pass as one whenever he was off ship.

"Do you remember the names of those who mistreated you?" Ronan cups his face, expression intense, and Peter is forcibly reminded that he is sitting with The Accuser and letting his mind drift is suicidal. "I shall find them. We will make them pay."

"Are you defending my honor?" Because, holy shit, no one has ever come to Peter's defense without some sort of personal incentive. Suspicious, the Terran rapidly tries to think through all the angles and the only motivation Ronan may have is sleeping with Peter again because that's all the smaller male has to offer- not that that seems to be going especially well come to think of it.

"Kree are very... territorial and protective with our mates and families." And Peter stares as Ronan's cheeks flush cobalt all the way to his ears. It's fucking _adorable_ and Peter feels his own cheeks heat as his heart does an odd thump at the sight. "Once a pair are assigned to one another, there are customs both are expected to uphold. Defense of the other and any children are obvious but defense of personal honor and reputation is another of them."

 _Oh, my God... Assigned mates?_ The Terran can only continue to stare because there are so many things in the Kree's statement that leave him mentally reeling. Peter has no idea where to even begin processing any of the information beyond the vague thought that Ronan's assigned wife will be lucky- or unlucky since Peter's essentially making sure her would-be mate dies today. Uncomfortable, Peter smiles lamely and says, "That's... Really sweet."

Because it is, in a way- a very weird and bizarre way, yes, but that makes it no less endearing. Peter finds himself oddly envious of such a cultural practice because his mom's life would have been immensely easier if the jackass who sired Peter had felt such compunction and hadn't left both Peter and his mother at the judgmental mercy of the Quill family.

"No dead beat dads among the Kree, huh?" Peter mutters distractedly, mind a million miles away as he tries to shove the surfacing memories of childhood rage and abandonment and fear back into the mental lock box he confines them in. There had been no one willing to defend his mother when others called her a whore and Peter a bastard and there had been no one to defend her except Peter when some lowlife asshole thought having a kid out of wedlock meant his mother was easy. And when DCFS had been called in on some bogus charge Peter had had to fight tooth and nail to stay with her because she was the best mother **ever** and being single wasn't synonymous with incapable of caring for a child. But then she'd gotten sick and the family fighting had started and then Peter had found out just how little he mattered to anyone before Yondu had snatched him. Absurdly, he wonders if his mother would be proud of him, of what he's done with his life and if she would claim him as her son with pride or if she would push him away like something too troublesome to deal with much as the rest of the Quill family had.

Peter rubs at his burning eyes and promises himself that, if by some miricle he lives through this (ha ha ha yeah right he's used up any heavenly favors God owed him), he's going to find a therapist or something because loosing his shit like this is going to get him killed. What the hell is wrong with him today- here he is trying to save a planet by playing sexy seductor and all the Terran seems to be doing is resurrecting the ghosts of his past all over the place instead.

Bad Peter- no cookie.

"No." Ronan says and the Kree is _right there_ in front of him having moved closer while the Terran wasn't paying attention. "There are no such things."

Peter jumps and laughs nervously, forcing himself to hold still as strong arms wrap around him, tucking his smaller frame against the larger. The Terran can feel his heart rate skyrocket and tries to calm it by distracting himself with better thoughts and quickly clearing his throat. "Good thing for the kiddos then."

He smiles up at Ronan but feels the expression crumble a bit in the face of the Kree's unwavering stare; it makes Peter feel small and vulnerable and want to crawl into a hole somewhere to hide from it.

"This is a discussion I wish to have with you later." Ronan says with a look that they will indeed be having a talk later, something that Peter secretly finds hilarious since there probably won't be a later for either of them. A small part of Peter actually mourns that fact. "For now, you seem incapable of remaining centered without help."

With little effort, the Kree pins the Terran to the bed with a hand on Peter's chest and uses the other to support his weight as he settles his hips between Peter's thighs. Unlike Peter, who lost his erection sometime during his personal introspection, the Kree is still ready and rearing to go and though the Terran is alright with having sex again he is not okay with their respective positions.

"Ronan, sweetie," Peter says in an attempt to gain the larger male's attention as he wraps both hands around the thick blue wrist on his chest and pulls. He shifts his hips onto his side and manages to disrupt the Kree's attempt to line up for penetration. Peter pleads, smacking at the other's hands to get his attention again and failing. "Ronan! Wait a minute! Time out!"

There's a reason Peter chose the position he had when they first began, something that allowed Ronan to participate but only in a manner the Terran could reletively control. Thanks to Hala's gravity, Kree are a species built for battle with bodies that are composed primarily of dense muscle tissue. Their adaptive physiology is part of why no one fucks with the Kree Empire without a metric fuckton of heavy ordinance back up their threat and the patience to wipe out every damn Kree in a quadrant. Kree are sheer physical power incarnate, capable of incredible brutality that's leashed only by the control their militaristic culture instills.

The same control that Peter has been steadily chipping away at in order to seduce Ronan, a dominant blue Kree who has never had sex with anyone let alone someone as fragile as a Terran, a being Ronan outweighs almost three to one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oddly enough, Movie!Ronan is a bit of a shorty for his race since the blue Kree are on average 8 ft tall regularly. Comic!Ronan is supposed to be 7 ft normally and roughly 9 ft tall in universal mode. He's also a heavy weight and his weight varies from just under 500 lbs to nearly 800 lbs. So... Yeah. 
> 
> How am I doing? Any suggestions?


	9. Chapter 9

  
The Kree is single minded in his goal and, after using his free hand to pin Peter's hips flat to the bed, begins pushing forward to breach the Terran's channel. Despite their earlier vigorous activities, the smaller male's body is neither loose nor slick enough to accommodate the Kree's cock and Peter whines, trying helplessly to twist away from the Kree's strong grip and gritting his teeth as Ronan sinks in to the hilt. He strains desperately against the Kree's hold to gain control of the situation before Ronan can start moving and manages to get a leg between them. His efforts to push the Kree away fall flat unfortunately when Ronan easily maneuvers the limb over one broad blue shoulder, the move leaving the Terran more open than before, and then Peter's opportunity is gone as the Kree pulls his hips back to thrust.  
       
Peter's vision whites out as every ridge and irregularity along the Kree's length rubs against Peter's prostate sending the smaller male into spasms of pleasure. The Terran's erection reawakens so fast he thinks he might have blacked out for an instant from all the blood heading below his waist. The feel of his cock begging for attention pulls him back to the present and Peter can barely remember his own name in that instant let alone what he's so upset about. The world narrows down to just the two of them and he moans appreciatively as they rock together sharing feverish kisses, Ronan's hands running over Peter's skin and making it tingle pleasantly. It's almost too much sensation to handle but it keeps the Terran anchored, keeps him from getting lost in his own head. He's here with Ronan making love and, as the Kree changes the angle of his thrusts, Peter can only arch against the larger male, grinding and moaning wantonly.  
       
Ronan groans, shifts his angle again and the Terran's vision whites out again as he comes. Peter clings to the Kree, invoking every incarnation of God he's ever heard in his life, hips thrusting weakly in response as Ronan floods him with his seed. He can hear the Kree whispering in his ear, something soft and lilting that sounds like a prayer to Peter's ears even if his translator can't make sense of it.  
        
There are more kisses and though Peter enjoys every one, he's a half hearted participant until he's recovered from his very satisfying orgasm. Ronan, in contrast, seems frustrated if the constant shifting of his hips is any indication. The repositioning makes the Kree’s penis shift inside the Terran’s body, poking painfully into the soft flesh with an unyielding sharpness that wasn’t there moments before. The more Ronan shifts, the deeper the hurt and now that he thinks about it, Peter slowly realizes that the pain is coming from multiple places.  
     
An internal alarm begins ringing in Peter’s endorphin clouded brain but before he can do anything about it Ronan growls and shifts up onto his knees, putting the muscles in his back, hips and thighs into his thrusts and Peter is abruptly reminded why he'd tried to stop this. The new position practically folds Peter in half, driving the Terran's weight onto his upper back, and an uncomfortable level pain is added that steadily begins to increase until Peter feels less like he's having sex and more like he's being steadily impaled on a spit via his rectum. The Kree's cock is like a blade studded battering ram inside the Terran that hammers relentlessly against one spot, pain building until Peter feels a particularly sharp stab.  
     
Agony explodes in Peter's middle and he tries to scream as he attempts to move away from what is hurting him, limbs scrambling against any surface for leverage, leaving nail marks and bruises that are completely ignored. The Kree claims his mouth again and Peter can't get air as he feels every inch of Ronan's cock invading the wound it’s made, the ridges helping it remain embedded there. Desperate, Peter claws at the Kree's back with one hand and slams his other fist into Ronan's cheek repeatedly, sinking his teeth into whatever flesh happens to be near. Ronan jerks back shouting and Peter lets go immediately because now he has air and he screams his pain until the Kree seems to realize that this isn't some sort of rough pillow play. The larger male slows his thrusts to a stop and leans back, the Terran's leg sliding off his shoulder, and Peter immediately pulls the limb between them to kick like an enraged mule at the Kree's chest until, with a wet tearing sound, their bodies are separated be several feet.  
     
Peter coughs, great wracking heaves that leave him feeling both nauseous and light headed as he drunkenly scrambles further up the bed from the Kree when Ronan reaches for him. The Terran's body protests the abrupt movements, his abdomen cramping around the abused flesh, sharp bolts of pain shooting up his spine to let Peter know he needs to keep still and call Doc because this is beyond the simple patch jobs Peter can fix on his own.  
      
The Kree watches the Terran and its clear he doesn't understand why they are no longer fucking. Currently at the end of the bed, Ronan isn't so much sitting as coiled to spring with one knee under him and a hand on the mattress to help propel him forward at any moment. Displayed between those strong muscular thighs, Ronan's penis is still erect and the navy colored skin has acquired a red sheen to it that makes Peter feel ill as he mentally shies away from the implications of the image.  
      
Chest heaving, never taking his eyes off the Kree, Peter half crawls half drags himself to the headboard and curls his legs under him. He has to fight the urge to pull the blankets over him or stack the pillows between them like a barricade because he knows that either option will be useless if Ronan comes after him. Peter's abdominal muscles clench up reflexively at the thought of being touched again, his insides aching as liquid dribbles down his thighs to puddle beneath him. Grimacing, Peter hugs himself then has to still his fingers when he realizes he's unconsciously petting his arms in a self-soothing action.  
      
The Terran is pretty sure he doesn't look away- long buried memories of watching lions on National Geographic specials stirring to life and urging Peter to keep the predator in sight at all times- but one moment Ronan is at the end of the bed and the next he isn't. Instead, like a damn magic trick, the Kree is abruptly right in front of him and all the Terran can think is _toofasttoofastTOOFAST!_  
       
Peter panics. He recoils with a less than manly squeal, kicking out with a foot while backpedaling until his back hits the headboard and he's trapped. Inside his head a voice is chanting _weapon!weapon!weapon!_ and his body obeys, desperate to defend itself from the threat and there is no logic, no argument Peter can present that can stop the blind terror pouring through his veins.  
       
He knows that this is not Ronan's fault.  
       
He knew that there was a high probability of being severely injured once he gave into this mad scheme.  
       
He knows that this is not rape because Peter **knows** what that feels like and this isn't it despite how badly its gone.  
      
Peter knows all this and more, really he does, but that doesn't stop him from diving for the shelf where all their weapons lay, nearly hyperventilating in his haste to arm himself. His fumbled attempts to grab his blaster dumps half the contents on the floor and Peter can't help the desperate sound he makes when he feels the mattress shift nearby as Ronan closes in.  
      
In retrospect, Peter thinks much later, his biggest mistake was looking away from the weapons in order to gauge how far away the Kree was because it’s in that instant of inattention that his fingers slip off the blocky handle of his blaster and right onto the fucking Infinity Stone embedded in Ronan's hammer.  
        
Immediately it’s like a circuit has been completed as a jolt of energy floods down Peter's arm into his body and soaks into Peter's frame. Every nerve is ablaze inside the Terran, making him feel like he's holding a live wire and Peter's eyes feel like they're bleeding as supernovas the color of the Stone burst into being inside his head. The influx of energy fries his translator and there's a similar pinching burn from somewhere in his abdomen that takes him by surprise but the pain of both is swept away easily, both just drops of water in an ocean of agony.  
       
Sensation jumbles together in a great cacophony inside the Terran's head until the world is incomprehensible. Peter's dying, he aware of that much, his body hollowed out by the energy consuming him and there isn't a damn thing he can do except suffer as it destroys him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 in which Peter and the Infinity Stone have an inadvertently revealing conversation. Will the Terran succeed and gain a new ally or will the Stone merely destroy him?

      But then the world quiets, the agony recedes and Peter finds himself standing in an empty white space. He blinks and looks at his hands, opening and closing his fingers, admiring the unmarred skin now that he can think beyond the pain. Here his body is in one piece, undamaged, all trace of his previous activities and his contact with the Stone gone. Peter takes a moment to marvel at his nude form and then immediately grows suspicious because, seriously, what the _**fuck**_.  
  


 **What do you wish to destroy?**  
       


The voice surprises him and Peter ducks instinctively because it seems to come from all around him. Visually, there's nothing except Peter in this blank environment but the Terran's senses contradict that, screaming that he's not alone. Warily, Peter scans the area again until- there! On his left, there's a patch of air like a heat haze that is vaguely humanoid. He can only see it in his peripheral vision because looking directly at it makes it vanish so Peter keeps his head at an angle in order to keep the entity in sight.  
      


 **What do you wish to destroy?**   The voice is patient and _old_ -Peter can feel the press and weight of unfathomable years press on him like a physical sensation. Listening to it makes his head throb and his bones ache.  
  


The Terran smooths his hands over his duster, vaguely surprised yet somehow not that he's now wearing clothes. He's in full Ravager regalia complete with the reassuring weight of his blaster on his hip, and Peter feels infinitely better and confident now that he's armed.  
  


Not that it'll help him much since he's facing an invisible entity but, yeah. Little victories and all that.  
       


"I don't want to destroy anything." Peter answers honestly after a moment of thought. It's important he answers, he realizes, because he thinks he's figured out what he's talking to. "I don't want to rule or conquer anyone either."  
     


The Infinity Stone wavers a bit and Peter wonders if he's confused it.  
      


 **Then what do you wish to do?**  
      


Yup, he's confused it. "I want to create." And **shit** Peter, where did that come from?  
       


 **You are very different, Peter Quill.**  
      


"I get that a lot." Peter grins proudly, looking over at the entity as he scrubs a hand through his hair roughly. "So, can you, uh, not destroy Xandar? It's a shitty place but there are some good people there."  
      


 **My siblings and I obey the will of our wielder.**  
      


Peter thinks that's a bit sad but, considering he's talking to one of the most destructive forces in the freaking universe, he decides encouraging sentience is a bad idea and keeps his opinions to himself.  
      


"Well, Ronan was in a not-killing mood last I saw." Peter says, gesturing over his shoulder like the Kree is just out of sight somewhere. "I think. He might've changed his mind while I was out. About killing me, not Xandar, I mean. So," Peter rubs at his head in an effort to relieve the pressure that seems to rapidly be building in his temples. It's making it hard to concentrate and the Terran finds himself increasingly stumbling over his thoughts. "S-so, yeah, no, uh, no pl-planet destroying today..."  
       


Pain, relentless and all consuming, slams into Peter and drives the air from his lungs as thoroughly as a sledgehammer to the chest. He's on his knees before he knows it, clawing at his chest in a futile attempt to help himself breathe because suddenly the muscles in his chest aren't working like they should and the muscles in his back sieze. His heart is pounding, his bones ache, his insides burn and Peter can feel his strength draining away until he's lying on the floor, panting wetly and barely able to get any air.  
     


"No," He moans as he looks at his hands in despair. Instead of strong calloused fingers, he finds the small, scrawny thin ones of his former eight year old self. "No, no, no...."  
     


 **You are dying.** The Infinity Stone observes and there is no concern in its tone.  
     


Peter knows this already so he really doesn't appreciate his impending death being narrated, especially by something that doesn't give a shit about him even if he's aware that no one gives a shit about him. He _**knows**_ , has known since he was little, since his mother was hospitalized and he realized that he was smaller than his six year old cousin, Jane. Peter has known no one cares about him for the majority of his life but he doesn't want to be reminded of it for his death.  
    


"I was dead anyway one way or another." He mumbles, trying to concentrate on getting back up. Child body or not, if he was meeting his end then Peter was going to die on his feet, damn it. "Ronan, Yondu, the Ravagers, ship crashing, Xandar, Nova Corps, lack of available Terran specific medical attention, jealous lover, random accident. One of them was going to get me eventually."  
    


 **You are remarkably accepting of this fact.**  
    


Exhausted, Peter makes it to his knees and realizes that that is as close as he's going to get to standing. He shrugs and it’s little more than a limp shift of his shoulders. If his death means the survival of a planet, of his friends, then so be it. Besides, it isn't like Peter was applying himself to anything worthwhile anyway.  
    


"Before the Ravagers grabbed me, I was sick, like **real** sick." Peter hears himself say breathlessly, chest heaving as he tucks his legs under him and sags back to sit on his heels. Around both he and the Infinity stone the blank landscape morphs until it’s a perfect replica of his grandparents’ house and he stares as he watches people he hasn’t seen in nearly thirty years walk about performing various mundane tasks and chores.  
       


He remembers sitting in the living room, his headphones over his ears but no music on, listening as in the kitchen his aunts and uncles-in-law and his grandparents all squabble amongst themselves because no one wanted him. There were various reasons: he was a trouble maker, he was the family shame, he would be a bad influence on his cousin, etc. He'd also been defective at that point, sick like his mother but in a different way, one that made him noticeably scrawnier and weaker than any other child in his year.  
       


 _(By the time Yondu abducts him, he'll be the tiniest eight year old in town, a concern that Peter doesn't bother to mention and something no adult seems to care about. He'll also bruise easily and tire quickly from minimal exertion and have trouble getting a full breath and, again, none of his caregivers notice. Peter comforts himself at night with the knowledge that he won't be alone for long because when she dies, he'll be following his mother soon after. There will be no trace of Peter when he dies and so he also silently mourns for the life he'll never live to see though he'll never admit it, too convinced that such selfishness is why his mother is sick, why no one wants him. There is no one to wipe his tears away or reassure him so he listens to his mix tape and misses his mother terribly.)_  
       


From diagnosis to death, Peter’s mother lasted a year. During that year, the health of both she and Peter declined at roughly similar rates but, while her son suffered in silence, Meredith Quill was constantly surrounded by her once estranged family. Peter's glad that his mother isn't alone, that her impending death has rallied her family back to her side even if he hasn't seen her in months. As the end approached, his Grandfather doesn't take Peter to see her at the hospital anymore- if she was drugged up when she saw him she went off on a tangent about Peter's sire until she passed out and if she was sober then she would only get upset, insisting that something was wrong with her little boy. Either outcome only disturbed the visiting adults and made them angry which they then would take out on Peter because it was somehow his fault the visit went so badly. Peter quickly became an expert at staying out of everyone’s way and finding hiding places where he could rest because sleep is something hard to come by when you couldn't seem to get enough air no matter how hard you tried.  
       


He realizes he’s staring but the Infinity Stone simply waits patiently, as if it has all the time in the world and, for all Peter knows, it probably does.  
     


"I wanted to make something for her." He clears his throat and takes a carefully measured breath because the words come out sounding perilously close to a sob. "Something that would prove she existed and was the awesomest mom ever."  
     


It's a stupid desire, he knows, but an honest one all the same.  
       


"You can destroy planets but haven't you ever wanted to create something?" He asks in a plaintive whisper and blinks tears from his eyes. He can feel his cheeks burn but there’s nothing he can do about it.  
      


 **Destruction and creation are opposing forces.**  
     


"Same coin, dude." Peter counters, blinking slowly at the shiny quarter suddenly resting in his palm. He crushes his hand around it, thinks about the little toy bird his mother once got him at a fair, and smiles at the little white plastic avian sitting in his lap. "Different natures, yeah, but ultimately the same thing. Energy is energy. All about how you use the ability. See?"  
  


    He can't lift his hand so Peter tips the bird onto the floor and twitches his fingers to push the thing toward the Infinity Stone. The Terran feels more than sees the entity shift closer to examine the plastic tchotchke.  
     


 **You are oversimplifying a significantly complex application of the laws of matter transmutation. It is not merely a question of redirecting the energies involved but-**  
     


"Blah, blah, blah." Peter interrupts irritably, feeling awful and wanting to just get on with the whole dying in peace thing. "You're a talking rock. In my head. We shouldn't be able to have this conversation but you don't see me bitching about it. Look, the next time you get a master that wants to destroy planets or whatever, suggest they get a therapist and take up another hobby!"  
     


 **Is this truly what you want?** And, wow, if the damn Stone doesn't sound surly!  
  


He's about to agree, just to get it over with but something in Peter hesitates, unwilling to let the question go so easily without due consideration. Until now, Peter Jason Quill had lived his life firmly in the now, convinced that he'd never live long enough to achieve anything he'd ever want. His opinion had never mattered to anyone else so it was almost as if his default setting had become to have no opinion about anything as a kind of survival mechanism.  
  


What does he want?  
  


 _What **does** he want?_ The question echoes through his head, ricocheting in his brain until it's nearly meaningless, an incomprehensible roar tht demands an answer. What does he **want**? **What does he want?** _**WHAT DOES HE WANT?!**_  
  


And then it stops, the question seeming to find an answer in his subconscious, and the silence is deafening in its own way. Peter can only sit there like an idiot as the landscape melts and shifts, bleeding colors and moulding itself until he's looking inside the cramped interior of the Milano, specifically the small common area. Peter stares as phantom versions of Drax, Gamora, Rocket, and Groot walk in and out of the area, sometimes interacting with one another in silent conversation and sometimes just sharing the space as they individually indulged in their respective pastimes.  
  


Then phantom versions of Ronan and Peter enter, Peter bypassing the stairs and jumping down to the lower deck directly from the cockpit as Ronan emerges from the bunks, looking for all the world as if he just woke up.  
  


And no one looses their shit- they all yell at Peter's phantom self for hopping the stairs so recklessly but the Kree fetching coffee doesn't get a word of negativity. Phantom Ronan takes a seat at the table near Rocket and Groot and sips his drink as he watches Rocket make something worryingly explosive while phantom Peter fetches his own drink before plunking down in his own chair at the table to chat with everyone excitedly.  
  


_This is what I want._  
  


Time seems to speed up in the scene before him and Peter watches the phantoms bicker and fight, laugh and cry with one another. Peter feels his cheeks heat as kisses are shared between the phantom versions of himself and the Kree then between himself and Drax and Gamora and the Terran flat out stares as the relationship between all four of them becomes more intimate all to the continued amusement and exasperation of phantom Groot and Rocket. Time passes and Milano's interior shifts and expands to accommodate them all as the team stays together, becoming family and when a kid appears in the scene it feel like a natural progression, not a worrying surprise.  
  


Peter laughs and once the first sound escapes him he can't stop even though it makes his whole body ache. Pain roars through his head and still the Terran laughs, tears running down his cheeks. Eventually the laughing shifts to quiet, gasping sobs that leave him a coughing, wheezing, choking wreck on the floor, so dizzy he doesn't know up from down. He wants it, he wants all of it- the kids, a family, a team and a ship to hold them all. Peter **wants** it and it doesn't matter because he won't live long enough to get any of it.  
  


 _"I wish you'd never asked."_ He wants to say but his lungs are wooden and he's so tired he can't muster the energy needed to move his mouth. _"Why did you even ask?"_  
  


It's somehow so much worse now that he knows because there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. The disappointment and sorrow are soul-crushing, a smothering weight that presses him forward until he's a heap pn the floor. He can't even lift his head so he has no hope of fending off the Infinity Stone when it reaches forward and grabs him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter will be a bit delayed. I've had a lot of trouble figuring out whose point of view to write it in. Seriously- I tried writing it in Gamora's POV, Ronan's POV and I've done Peter's POV four times. I've been pulling my hair out trying to get it done. It's been maddening, mostly because this is the point where stuff gets weird and I'm trying to explain it in a cohesive manner so please be patient. 
> 
> As always, encouragement is appreciated as are story ideas.

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned previously, this was originally written for the LJ Kink meme (which can be found at http://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/2727.html?thread=1186471) though this is the more refined version. In regards to the title, I'm not a religious individual and I'm hoping I'm using the text in context though that will be more apparent in time.  
> Anyway, leave me a comment to tell me how this is being recieved!


End file.
